8.16.11

He wants to open up, he really does. He wants to tell people, and let them help him, because he knows he can't live on his own. And he tries, hard. It just... doesn't work out.

He gets up from his bed, pacing around his room. He pauses for a moment in front of his desk, looking at the note he had started earlier. Frowning, he shakes his head. He takes the paper and crumples it into a ball, throwing it across the room. It wasn't important anyway.

Sitting back down, this time on his desk chair, he sighs. There's so much anger in him, wanting- no, needing- to get out. If only he could let himself talk to someone, to trust someone... It could never work though. Trusting someone, for him at least, is an unusual and, although nice, somewhat tiring experience. He'd much prefer to be able to shut himself down completely, without the need for other people or friends.

It's much too late for that now though. He already trusts several people, and can never stop himself.